


First Date!

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: F/M, First Dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 15:29:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13954560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'Can I get a first date fic where Richard is all super cute and nervous?'I tried. He's hard to write as nervous!





	First Date!

“You look… beautiful.”

You turn around, and smile, fingers falling from your hair, and Richard smiles. He looks… ridiculously hot. He’s wearing a leather jacket, the kind of black t-shirt so tight that you could get a Tippex and outline his muscles, and tight black pants, with a pair of aviator sunglasses resting on his nose. He looks like the devil god of sex right now. What kind of person turns up to a first date looking like this?! You feel so underdressed in a white blouse, high-waisted shorts and tights. At least your shoes are both cute white trainers. _Aesthetic_ , as he would say, in that adorable accent.

“You’re gorgeous,” you say, shyly, and he smiles at you - there’s a genuine sweetness in those eyes, which you’ve seen burn wickedly and crinkle mischievously. He holds his hand out and takes yours, kissing it gently, and you feel yourself blushing.

“I’ve got us a table at this place I know,” he says, and grins. “How impressive is that? Does that sound impressive to you?” You grin and nod, and he shrugs. “I just wanted to make sure that we went somewhere you like… you like Italian food, right?”

“Mmhmm.” You stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek, and he grins again - now his cheeks are pink, and you sigh. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“So… why did you agree to go out with me?”

You pause, a forkful of pasta halfway to your mouth, and then realise you are missing out and eat it quickly, thinking. Richard is looking at you with those oddly-sincere eyes, and you shrug.

“I mean. We were friends, and… you…” You smile at him. “You’re hot, and you’re pretty charming. And we’re quite similar.” He smiles, looking down at his plate where he is twirling a forkful of spaghetti, and you tilt your head. “Why did you ask me out?”

“For pretty much the same reasons. That is a relief.” He grabs his glass of wine, and smiles at you again. “And are you having a nice time?”

“I’d be having a nice time with you anywhere, Rich,” you say, quietly, and his smile broadens - that pink flush returns to his cheeks again as well. It’s true - the two of you have hung out plenty of times, and you feel comfortable with Richard. “But this is quite romantic.”

“That’s good. I haven’t lost my touch.” He shrugs, and then looks at you. “I was worried you would say no. I honestly thought you were interested in Ollie.” You crack up; you’re friends with Ollie, you’ve known him for six years, but he’s not your type. _Obviously_. He’s just a friend. “What?!”

“No way. I never thought you’d be interested in me,” you confess, and his brow furrows. “I mean… you know. You’re sort of… a rock star. You’re sort of a few echelons above me.” You shrug, feeling a little embarrassed.

“…I honestly do not know how you can think that when you’ve seen me fall-down drunk,” he says, that earnest wide smile back again, the one where he doesn’t quite close his teeth together. “But I’m glad. We both think the other is too good for us.” You roll your eyes, and grin at him. “So… here is the real ‘kicker’, as they say. If I invite you back to my place, is that weird now?”

“Do we have to make it weird?” you ask, and he shakes his head.

“I don’t want you back for any reason other than to spend more time with my friend,” he says, looking down at the table, and you tilt your head, smirking a little. “I am serious!” He exhales. “If I have to be honest, you… you make me nervous.” He looks at you, and you freeze with the forkful of pasta next to your mouth. “…I have no idea why.”

“I have no idea why either,” you say, quietly, and set the fork down.

“I don’t really feel nervous around women, but I kind of like that you make me want to impress you, because I think that’s healthy. I think that’s how you should feel.” You nod, and smile. “ _But_ I don’t want you to feel nervous about me. I don’t know. Basically, you’ve short-circuited me.”

“I do, a little. But not creepy nervous. Like… ‘I want him to like me’.” You look into the wine glass. “What the hell did you put in this?” He snorts, and then extends his hand.

“Okay. Deal. Let’s not make it weird. We’re friends, who are dating. And I don’t get why we should be nervous. Except… that’s how I knew that I was into you.” You blush a little, and he kisses your hand. “Let’s defuse this. Dessert?”

“Dessert,” you say, smiling, and he shuffles his chair around the table to be next to you. “Do you think you’d have felt this way if we hadn’t been friends before?” He shakes his head, and leans in, kissing your cheek.

“I’m glad I was, though.”


End file.
